


Honey On Your Knees (When You Look at Me)

by charlottebecky



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Best Friends, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, My take on how Charlotte and Becky became... who they are, bb nxt days, lots of cuteness and flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:03:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottebecky/pseuds/charlottebecky
Summary: The first time you see her you stop in your tracks. She is astoundingly captivating, an aura of mystery, yet there is something very inviting about her. You don't know if you want to kiss her or punch her in the face. She seemed like she thought she was better than everyone at the Performance Center. Truth was, she probably was.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time you see her you stop in your tracks. She is astoundingly captivating, an aura of mystery, yet there is something very inviting about her. You don't know if you want to kiss her or punch her in the face. She seemed like she thought she was better than everyone at the Performance Center. Truth was, she probably was.

You had heard the word that a new class of Performance Center recruits had been coming in, and you had met a few of them. They were all still figuring out their ringnames so they introduced themselves to you in their birth names - Mercedes, Pam, Tenille. They were all getting ready in the lockerroom but she wasn’t there. That’s because she was already getting her stretches in inside the ring.

You’re not sure what caught your eye about her. Was it the dark hair, the gentle curving of her biceps as she stretched against the ropes, or her heavily Irish-accented, “Hello, hey, hi there,” as she greeted everyone as they introduced themselves. You’re not sure what you want to say to her, but you suddenly realize there is a lot.

You were in the middle of finalizing your divorce. You were averse to dating, averse to men, painfully aware of how fragile your heart was, how easily it trusted. How it kept urging you to trust this person whose name you now learned was Rebecca. Who was smiling her way into continuing to stretch as everyone waited for the coaches to arrive. Everyone put in an awkward position of wanting to wait versus watching this girl who obviously had her shit together more than others. Everyone wasn’t sure whether they wanted to respect orders or get in their competitive edge.

You are one always up for competition. No way you were slacking your first day at the Performance Center. Not when everyone was probably whispering behind your back about who  your father is. About how you’re probably only here because your father is Ric, because of course they would want you. Did they even believe you have talent?

You don’t say hi to her. You walk past the line of girls who are not circling the ring, still awkwardly waiting, and you step into the ring.

She nods at you. Out of recognition? Respect? Annoyance? You’re not sure, but you nod back. You decide not to follow her pattern of stretches and start with legs first.

The coaches pile in.

“This is Coach Sara Amato,” Coach Bloom yells at everyone. “Welcome to your first day of NXT Training. You’ve all passed your tryouts, congrats. It only gets tougher from here.”

“Race you to the top?” she asks you, still stretching.

You can’t help but break into a smile.

 

She grins back. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It doesn’t take a long time for everyone to find out you’re Ric Flair’s daughter. You tell yourself it’s okay. They will think what they want to think. It just means that you have to work extra hard, to prove to everyone that you  _ deserve  _ to be here. You let it motivate you. You’re ready to become bigger, stronger, more experienced. These girls have followed wrestling all their life. You have too, but in a different way. In a front-row at Wrestlemanias, Four Horsemen partying at your house, hanging out with the Undertaker but only at a bar in Europe because you tagged along with your dad kind of way. You don’t know all the terminology. Dirt sheets, promos, character work, these are all so new to you. You stay up all night reading up this information, you thank all your good graces that the female wrestlers in your class do not look like the “divas” of the era that is slowly fading away. You cannot figure out for the life of you how you would ever be a “diva.” You don’t really know how to do your makeup. You’re here because you are an athlete. And you plan to take every advantage you can.

It’s still early days and you finish up your wrestling studying for the night. It’s almost 5 am so there’s barely any time before training starts at 7 sharp. You’re still getting used to your new apartment, and the sheets don’t feel right just yet. The Performance Center is only a five minute walk away so you decide to just change into your workout tank and shorts and get some workout in before breakfast and classes start for the day.

You’re not alone in the gym. Of course she’s up before everyone else. Of course she’s playing Pearl Jam out loud, and mumbling her rep count under her breath. You think she doesn’t notice you walk in, so you don’t really say hi, and go straight for the cardio.

“Well good morning to you,” she says, and you try your best not to jump. There’s a weird hollow in your stomach, that you try to shrug off as hunger and not the fact that this woman’s presence makes you very  _ very  _ nervous. You don’t care if Pam’s been a wrestling fan since practically birth, or if Mercedes has been training for this all her life. It’s Rebecca who you see as your biggest competition. And somehow, it’s Rebecca whose presence and intentions you find the most comforting. There’s something about her you trust heavily and utterly.

“Morning,” you say quietly, almost too quietly because it probably gets lost in the music.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks, not getting off the machine and walking over to you as you watch your heart rate speed up on the treadmill monitor.

“Yeah, night late enough that it wasn’t worth it to get like an hour of sleep before breakfast,” you say, trying your best to concentrate on your run. 

“Your form is great,” she said. “Sorry for the unsolicited um,”

“Compliment?” you ask, smiling.

“No Princess,” she laughs, the nickname setting your stomach on fire. “A compliment would be if I told you how strong and resilient your thighs are.”

Oh.  _ Uh-oh.  _ This was not good for your focus.

“I’m a queen thank you very much,” you retort, not sure where this false confidence was coming from.

“I look forward to learning more about that,” she says, moving on to lifting weights. “Let’s get breakfast before training?”

You nod sheepishly, a little light flickering in your heart


	3. Chapter 3

Over your first breakfast together you - and you can already tell this isn’t your last - you realize that Rebecca, or Becky as she insists you call her, is unlike anyone you’ve met before. She is not afraid to tell  you thinks like they are. She tells you she is here to be the best. She had initially retired from wrestling at  _ nineteen  _ after starting at fifteen but then giving up due to lack of proper opportunities, but she is back, and ready to do this from the get-go, bigger and tougher than ever.

“I hate to say it because rivalry and competition and ego and all,” you say, throwing some syrup over your protein pancakes, and passing it to her across the table. She clears her throat and looks up with a knowing look, wondering what you’re going to say. “You’re one of the best in our class. There’s absolutely no doubt about it.”

“I don’t need ya to tell me that,” she smirks, taking a mouthful. “But it still feels very good to hear it. Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” 

“You’re definitely the best at promo class,” you tell her. “I have no shots there, I’m just a college athlete you know, I was in gymnastics all my life, and then volleyball so I have the athletic stuff down. I have no idea how to act, I don’t know how to talk.”

“Mmhmm - I was in acting classes for a while in Ireland,” she says. “I love that part about pro wrestling. It’s so much fun building a character and adding a personality to ‘er.”

“Wow,” you say, nodding. “I have so much to learn. I don’t even know where to start.”

“It’s in yer blood, Flair,” she says. “You’ll figure it out. I didn’t want to like you but, yer not so bad. I can help you go over things if you need.”

“That would be nice yes,” you find yourself agreeing to this proposition.

From that moment, you know this girl’s good. She’s not just excellent in training, but she’s got a heart of gold. She wants the best for herself, but she doesn’t want the worst for you.She helps you with your promo work, you help her land some aerial moves.

You find that you can talk to her about more than just wrestling. She fills your confused, tired heart with her laughter. You don’t want to admit it because it was never the plan to make friends - only warn the competition, but you’re glad you have found someone to talk to, because frankly it was getting very lonely just sitting in your tiny apartment shuffling between learning wrestling history and watching old Grey’s Anatomy episodes. She takes you to screenings of old movies, you teach her the comfort of Ben ‘n’ Jerrys. She sings you songs on her guitar, you braid her hair after long days of training. 

It’s a fantastic distraction from your divorce. It’s an even better feeling knowing you’ve made a friend. A friend who doesn’t really care who your father is.

“You gotta prove that you can do it yourself,” she says. “And I know you can. I see you getting miles better every day. It’s insane.”

“You really think so?” you ask, very excited that she has compliments for you. You are hungry to get out of your father’s shadow, but so far it surrounds a lot of the talk around you at the Performance Center. Coaches have been talking about not letting you woo or strut when you make TV so that people can decide on you for themselves.

“Yeah,” Becky says. “Everyone knows it too.”

“Everyone is so quiet around me,” you say. “They never talk to me. I feel like they’re all hating me behind my back.”   


“Dude,” she says. “They’re jealous. Everybody wants you to fail because then it’s easy to point fingers and say the golden Flair child is failin’. And you haven’t been giving them a chance to do that. Yer winnin’ here.”

“Thank you,” you say, slowly feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. Becky always knows the right things to say. She also looks amazing at the moment doing stretches on the gym mat before taking to the treadmill for cardio. 

“Besides,” she asks. “How many friends ya need? Aren’t I enough for ya?”

“So you admit we’re friends?” you ask, smirking.

“Don’t be too happy ‘bout it,” Becky said. “But I will tell you you earned me respect. That’s how you do it.”

"That's exciting," you say. "I'm glad we're friends."

She grins at you and starts running on the machine. You stand there, expectantly. She stops the treadmill and looks at you.

"What?" she asks. "Am I supposed to be glad that we're friends too?"

"Well are you?" you ask.

"Yeah," she says. "No one else puts up with my weird gym hours and need for pancakes at 3 am. I sure am glad we're friends, Flair."

Your heart swells up at that. With Becky around, everything seems like it would be okay.


	4. Chapter 4

You are so sure you are going to make your TV debut soon, and then the exact thing you were afraid of happens. The one word that strikes fear in the mind of any wrestler no matter how old how young how experienced how new: injury. You were at training, having a practice match against Tenille when you felt something snap in your ankle. You were about to tell her to stop when she punched you and your took a bump in the head. The last thing you remember before you fell unconscious was a familiar voice yelling “Flair, no!” and a blur of red hair rushing to your side, holding you by the shoulders.

You wake up in a hospital room, and slowly open your eyes. Becky stands tall over you - for once in your life - pacing the room.

“Mmmph, Becks,” you mumble. “Hey-”

“Oh my god,” Becky say, rushing over to you. “Shhh, it’s okay, don’t talk.”

“Dude it’s fine, it was just wrestling,” you say, slightly amused but very touched that she seems genuinely concerned. “Why’re you acting like someone tried to murder me?”

“I was just worried, kay?” she says, sitting down by your bedside, placing a hand on your hand. “You and I we’re supposed to be doing this together. I can’t have you down and out right now, we haven’t even made TV yet.”

“Ugh,” you say, realizing the pain in your foot is probably not the best of signs for your television debut. “What’s the diagnosis?”

“Well you were concussed,” she says. “So that’s one week out…”

“And what about this bitching pain in my ankle?” you ask, sensing that she is afraid to tell you something.

“It’s a grade II sprain, Flair,” she says, tightening her grip around your hand. “It’s between six and eight weeks at least for recovery , I’m sorry love.”

Your heart sinks. But also you are struck by a weird feeling because Becky’s soft touch on your hand is making you feel very self-conscious, as if you are afraid that she is going to let go at any time, but its also distracting you from the emotional and physical pain because you cannot stop thinking about how soft and right it feels. Weird how that works. The doctor comes in soon, and you are nervous that Becky is  going to let go, but she doesn’t. You smile to yourself and remind yourself not to let this friendship go.

“Do I at least get to go home?” you ask the doctor.

“Yes, you will be discharged tomorrow morning, Miss Flair,” he says. “We want to keep you overnight to see if there are any unexpected complications.”

“Will I have to be on crutches?” you ask.

“Not necessarily,” he says. “We’ll see how you’re feeling. It’s not fractured, thankfully, so you should be able to put some weight on it, and start physical therapy soon. I’ll let you get some rest now.”

When he leaves you turn to Becky.

“You should leave now,” you say. “You have training early tomorrow - we both know you need that rest.”

“Lass if you think I’m leaving your sight until you’re out of the hospital - and probably when I’m not at the PC any time, you’re wrong,” she says. 

“Becky,” you say, eternally grateful. “I appreciate it but-”

“No buts!” Becky says. “Now look I found this children’s book in the waiting room - Goodnight Moon. I’m gonna read it til you fall asleep okay Flair?”

“But I just woke up,” you say.

“Shh,” she says, and you try your best to suppress a laugh, and she begins to read.

 

You slowly drift off to sleep but when you wake up once in the middle of the night, you notice that you are fully tucked in under warm covers. You also see Becky still sitting next to you, this time on a couch she must have brought over. Her soft hand is gently holding yours. Maybe this injury won't be so bad after all. With a goofy ass smile that you can possibly offer no explanation but that you like her very much (as a friend of course, duh) you fall back asleep. 


End file.
